Imaginary
by Darkness Arts
Summary: What if the Asylum destroyed most of the Wanda everyone has come to know and love? What if the Witch in Wanda wanted to drown her world in red, leaving a gasping, scared little girl to drown in a sanguine pool of rage. JONDA and AU
1. Prologue

**Authors Note and Warnings: **To start off, this will not be a happy story. It centers around the corruption of power, the tainted desire to obtain said power, and the struggle to remain sane and humane when the greatest sin of all is the one thing you want most.

It is an AU, and begins while our delightfully insane Wanda is still in the Asylum. This will be JONDA, but the romantic part of this story is going to be dark, just like everything else. Of course, there's a lot you'll realize about Wanda that is a tad on the weird side of things cannon with X-Men Evolution.

I also appologize for the choppy way it's written. It's meant to be chaotic, since it's in Wanda's POV, and scannings of her vague memories.

**Imaginary**  
Prologue

Darkness is the first thing I can recall. Not your average darkness either, for there were things, monsters, hidden in the depths of this darkness, and each and every one of them called for my blood. They stabbed at me with their hot pokers laced with Thorazine or halidol. They would do this to subdue me, bring me back to the light. Back to my red and gray existence, though they did so cruelly, leaving my body numb and lethargic, and my brain could only process the simplest of concepts.

The men in the gray, metallic uniforms, and the nurses in their all white, sterile attire. They held utensils that looked painful, though I couldn't recall the name of any of them. The long steel handle with the shiny, metal hook at the end of it, shaped like a sickle, was particularly daunting, however. I was sure that these painful instruments had either already been used on me, or they were about to. Sad thing is, if the dirt-speckled white walls began to fade around me, and the all encompassing red closed in, I knew I would lose consciousness again. The medical bench beneath me, with it's surgical iron surface would cease to be felt, and my sight would grow redder still. The noise around me, which was but a vague buzz to begin with, would leave me as well. All of my senses would turn to nothing but crimson.

The medical cocktails they fed me every morning would start to kick in, and the red in me, the _Witch_ in me would start to struggle. Fight against the deep, frightening darkness, and with it, my world would be dyed scarlet.

"But not today, young Wanda." the nurse at my side said. She had apparently been carrying on with her one-sided dialog, as my eyes glanced about frantically, accusingly. With her words, I felt the red tendrils of the _Witch_ slip towards the back of my consciousness, and for that I was grateful. When the _Witch_ took control, my body became something of a human apparatus of destruction and chaos. Power would ebb off of me in waves, but oh the desire for that power. To have the _Witch's_ power would be a magnificent thing, but it would corrupt me. I know it would. My mind, or what's left of it as the doctors and psychotherapists have deemed, would simply die off, allowing the red to consume me once and for all.

Regardless, the desire to be that strong, to be able to rise up and escape from this place was an insatiable thought to entertain still.


	2. Chapter One

**Imaginary**

Chapter I

My monthly visit with a crippled man named Charles Xavier came and went. We discussed the so called "imaginary" part of myself I deemed as the "Witch", and how improbable it was to even think that a demon _could_ share my body. Be he has never understood. He speaks of things I don't understand. Acts that I have committed out of anger and rage that I have no recollection of. These bouts of sheer violence and chaos were things that I could never even fathom committing, but something he said before had caught my attention.

"Tell me of this Dissociative Amnesia you mentioned before on one of our visits."

The polite bald man complimented me on how calm and at peace with myself I seemed today, before he cleared his throat. "It's rare, but it's a form of self-preservation you see. When someone has Dissociative Amnesia, they forget only selective things. Most commonly, they erase, or hide away a memory that is too painful for the conscious mind to bare. This happens mostly with patients suffering from PTSD, or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

Feeling bold, and particularly masochistic, I spoke up. "Could it be possible that I could be diagnosed with that. Is that why I don't remember these things," not that I believed in them having happened anyway, "that people say I do? Is that why I can only remember being here?"

Professor Xavier merely sighed and shook his head, before bringing his brown eyes to meet mine. "I'm afraid things are not nearely that simple in your case, Ms. Maximoff." He paused, bringing either of his hands to his temples to massage them. I dealt with stressful subjects in a similar fashion myself. "You, Wanda, are gifted."

My eyes must have belied my surprise. Being gifted could either be very good, or very bad, and I was becoming aware of presense of the_Witch_. Her whisperings in my mind told me that my gift was wonderful, and that it could do such amazing things. That anything I could think of, I could bring to life by merely concentrating on this. I, however, had never felt such a thing. I did not have the power she spoke of, and surely Professor Xavier meant something entirely different.

"Gifted...how?" I was almost afraid to ask.

"You, my dear, are like me. A mutant."

A...what?

I glanced around nervously, ran my trembling hands through my long, thick hair several times, all the while focusing on my breathing which was becoming constricted. My mind was becoming a haze of images, all bathed in red. Of a man with white hair, and a child with the same prematurely silvery hair. They were both standing in the rain, and I myself could feel screams escaping my throat, and the feel of strong arms holding me back. Restraining me from what, I wondered. Then the view shifted to a mob of angry people, all surrounding me and throwing objects like trash, small rocks, and signs that flashed "NO MORE MUTANTS" at me.

Then the walls began to bleed red, and men had come in with their syringes full, and their intentions for those needles was no hidden thing.

I did realize one thing as Charles Xavier was hastilly taken away, and I began to scream as more than one man leapt onto my kicking body and stabbed me with their needles.

As my world went red, I could feel the power the _Witch_ spoke of at my fingertips. And I wanted more.

**Authors Note: **So sorry for the short chapters. They will get progressively longer, and St. John will be introduced in the next chapter. Please be kind and let me know how I'm doing.


	3. Chapter II

**Imaginary**

Chapter II

I met a boy during group time today. He walked right up to me, sat down beside me, and shook the air in front of me with his hand, as my straight jacket wouldn't allow such a simple action to be reciprocated.

"Hello!" He said brightly and rather loudly about three inches from my face. When he pulled back, I got a good look at his pale aqua eyes, and saw the same glint in them that I did many of the other patients here. That over bright gleam that depicted insanity. Sighing, I turned my head away, trying to ignore the man, but he made this action extremely difficult. Every time I would turn my body away from his, he would follow on his feet. I would have physically moved, but I was restrained to my seat on the hard chair by leather straps tight enough to be cutting off the circulation to my arms and chest. The same bindings crossed my midsection, gluing my arms to my sides, and another set bound my thighs, and then my calfs together. This, and the straight jacket were what had been deemed as "Maximum Security" for me when I was free from my room to mingle with the other inmates.

Of course, mingling for me has never been simple. Everyone regards me with fear, and part of me says that the _Witch_ knows why, but I still can't fabricate an explanation. As far back as I can remember I tried making friends, and a few people would talk to me for a while, and then just suddenly stop. No explanation, but they would go out of their way to avoid me, like an infectious disease. So why was this boy bothering to make conversation now? I hadn't seen him before, but surely the others had warned him about me. Warned him about whatever it was that was apparently volatile in my nature.

I finally averted my gaze back to the redhead in front of me just as he stuck his tongue out at me. My expression must have given away my distaste at such childish antics for he drew back at once and smiled. I tried to mimic the action, but I'm sure it came out as more of a half-smile, half-grimace if anything. I wasn't used to smiling, and I don't think my facial muscles supported the action wholeheartedly either. But it seemed to win him over, as his grin, an infectious thing, widened, showing off a set of perfectly aligned, white teeth.

"There, that's ace Sheila. Beam like that at the men in the white coats, and I'm sure you could get us all out." He laughed, apparently finding what he said to be funny. I personally found his form of humor confusing, but smiled nevertheless. His accent was cute, and very Australian, and I found that listening to him made me grin naturally. Anything out of the monotonous tone of my life was interesting. "St. John Allerdyce, or if it's easier, Pyro at your service my lady." He swept a low bow as he announced this, drawing not only the attention of the other patients in the room with us, but also the attending nurses and guards who babysit us during "social time". I think he said his name was John, but whatever he said before it blurred into the name, and I had a hard time figuring it out as anything that made an intelligible name.

From what I had learned in one of my Rehabilitation Into Society classes, I had learned that when someone offers you their name, it is polite in public, or any conduct really, to give yours in return. Problem was, I didn't know my full name. Let alone did I have a nickname like "Pyro".

"I'm Wanda...don't really have a pseudonym to give you." I made a move to shrug, only to realize that I couldn't. "Sorry I don't have more to offer you, John." I tested his name on my lips, and was happy that I didn't stumble obviously over my words, though my mind had screwed up the letters in my mind. Pyro was a curious pet name, and if anything, I was intrigued, so I asked him about it.

"Well, it's my mutant name, and I'm quite proud of it." His grin was unwavering, though my mind picked up on only one word in his sentence.

_Mutant._

"You see, I can manipulate fire. It's kind of how I ended up here. I caught my house on fire."

I didn't hear him, instead, I was thinking. He knew about these alleged "mutants", and even claimed to be one. Professor Xavier had said I was a mutant as well. Is that why we were here? What could mutants do that would warrant confinement such as this?

"I was told I'm a mutant as well, but I can't do anything special." The _Witch_ uttered otherwise in my ear, but I was too focused on John, so it was easy to ignore her. "Are all mutants here? Was there some biological event that I can't remember? Is that why I'm- we're- here?" My voice was full of hope, and I'm sure my eyes were as well as I fidgeted excitedly within my body-tight confinement.

John's expression was at first one that of shock, but it slowly slid to one of confusion, and then understanding. My hopes were slowly crashing, and the _Witch_ had begun to press against my thoughts.

"Wanda, love. There was no war, no bio-hazardous event that made us this way." He must have thought I had the intelligence of a child, and at that very moment, I felt the same way. "We're evolved. It's a genetic predisposition that made us this way, that gave us our powers. No biological terrorist made me capable of honing the power of fire, and bending it to my will." He smiled then, and reached out to rub my shoulder reassuringly. Instinctualy, I flinched back, but he didn't seem offended. "As to why you're here, I can only imagine, but I know why I'm here. They figured I must be off in wonderland for loving fire the way I do. But they just don't know how power is when you have it. They would love it too if they could do it. Surely you understand." He gave me a questioning look, but my mind was so busy processing everything that I had just heard to respond promptly.

The _Witch_ surely loved the power she had, though if hers was of mutant nature, I didn't know. And there were times when I was upset about something that I could almost feel that scarlet power I sensed from the _Witch_ within myself, but those were very brief periods. Too brief and muddled for me to hone in on it.

"Do all mutants discover their powers immediately, or is it something they grow into?" I asked John innocently. Since he obviously knew that I was clueless about an extremely big and important part of my life, what could a few questions hurt.

He chuckled at me, the sound edging on maniacal. "No love, not all powers are obvious from birth. Hell, I didn't realize the full potential of what I could do until I hit puberty. I've heard of one mutant who never realized he was one until his skin turned orange and scaly at the ripe old age of 55."

So perhaps mine hadn't set in yet. Would it make my status here more hazardous? Or perhaps I would be out before mine manifested. I could only hope that the doctors had found out what was wrong with my brain before then.

"Are we the only mutants here?"

"In the Psych Ward, yes."

"There are others in the building besides us, and you and I are the _only_ ones locked up in maximum security?"

"Yeah, that about sums it up."

Great. I was one of the most dangerous entities in the building, and I didn't even know how to use this violent power that I had. Oh yeah, that, and I was a mutant too.

My life is getting more melodramatic by the minute.


	4. Chapter III

**Imaginary**

Chapter III

The dirty gray ceiling met me today. Blinking, I looked around to realize that I was on my makeshift bed on the floor of my room in the asylum. Nothing looked different, but I felt the difference all the same. The change was my newfound knowledge on myself.

_You're no different. You're just more aware._

Jumping to my feet I looked all around the room I was in, inspecting every corner for speakers. For something. For _anything_ to explain what I just heard. That voice. The one that sounded just like me, though it's tone was mocking.

_Stop being foolish,_ that voice chided me. _You'll alert the guards, and they'll just tranquilize you again. _

"Who are you?" I felt stupid asking the question to the obviously empty room, but I knew of no other way to communicate with my current hallucination.

_I am not a fabrication of your mind. _

"Yes you are." I answered at once, only to hear cruel laughter that reminded me of my own. Was I hearing the woman...in my head? "It must be the new medication they put me on." I rationalized with myself, settling back down on my bed. The nurse would be here to give me my daily shot and pill cocktail, and then she would take me to bathe.

_And after that you have breakfast, go to Communications I, and then enjoy a nice afternoon in solitary confinement. _

"Shut up."

_You can't make me shut up, you can't make me go away. And soon enough, you'll realize why this is. _

No I won't. Because I'm not hearing my own voice berating me, and I'm not crazy.

_At least you've stopped communicating orally. That was getting taxing. It's not easy to reach you like this, damn it. Now sit down, and be a good girl and take your meds._

Just then I head the lock mechanisms on my door begin to work, each one of them twisting about in it's puzzle of bolts and metal. I did as the voice had instructed and seated myself calmly. I held out my left arm, as they swabbed my shoulder, and stuck the syringe into it, r the handle and the drug they gave me daily. The nurse pulled her metal cart toward me and stood to look through the various pill bottles, looking for the one that would read Maximoff, Wanda.

"Here you go." The kindly nurse said, beaming at me. I held my hand outstretched, and accepted the seven pills and the small cup of water she gave me. Tossing them back, I downed the water, and then opened my mouth wide to show that I hadn't hidden any of the pills beneath my tongue as some of the patients often did. Satisfied, the woman left the room, passing the pair of guards on the way out who immediately set about to locking my room.

I then turned my attention back to the voice. Before I could even ask the question I had in mind, she answered.

_You take Seroquel 600 mg, that's an anti-psychotic. You take 3 mgs of Clonazepam, that's an anti-anxiety. You also take Lithium to prevent depression, Risperdal to keep you calm and in line which is a Neuroleptic, and in the syringe was a nifty tranq called Thorazine. The other two pills were Abilify, yet another Atypical anti-psychotic and Fluoxetine, which helps with the Lithium in keeping you what they deem as "happy". They also pump you full of Haldol on occasion. You happy now? I know more about what they're doing to you than you do. _

And why is that?

The laughter that followed gave her away. I was speaking to the_Witch._

_Because I am you. I am the power you refuse to aknowledge, the rage that has kept you locked up in this place, and the only reason you have left to live. I suffer for you, I fight your fights, and still, here I am. Just don't get angry Wanda, or you'll feel the full extent of my wrath. I will destroy this place, and everyone in it. You just tempt me to do it, and I will._

I then felt the prescence that I had failed to notice let loose of it's pressure on my mind. Did she know what had happened to me? Why I was here, of all places, rather than living another life?

Despite the drugs slowly starting to kick in, I felt my heart rate pick up, and the first tendrils of fear took hold.

Today was Thursday, which meant that group interaction time was at hand once again.

I didn't struggle as I was strapped into my straight jacket, and then bound with thick, unbreakable leather straps. If I cooperated, they would give me more time out of my room. More time to see John, and hear more about the existence of Mutants in the world. More time to try to convince him to help me, though I wasn't quite sure I could be helped at this point.

Two burly men lifted me from my seated position on my tiny cot on the floor and into the wheelchair they would use to take me to the group room.

Upon arrival, I found the room was empty save for one other person. John. He spotted me immediately and rushed over to where the guards had seated me. I was unsure as to how to go about asking him the questions I had in mind, but I would try. I just needed to focus, organize my thoughts, and concentrate on not letting the red slip in, despite the _Witch's_ painful menstruations in my head.

"Good afternoon, John." I greeted him pleasantly. He plopped down onto the hard bench beside me, and a notebook was in hand, with a pen stuck into the metal spirals that held the sheafs of paper together.

"Pleasant day, love." He returned, that bright smile of his lighting up his evenly tanned face. "Any new turns in how your powers are coming 'bout?"

I shook my head negatively, not wanting to tell him of the _Witch_ that so willed me to do such horrible things. "Not yet, but I want to know about the world outside of this place. I can't recall having ever seen it."

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before he shook his head indecisively. "It's not a pretty place to be. Almost as ugly as this old Asylum. Our kind are hated simply for being superior to the so called "top of the food chain". The government here is trying to pass a bill that requires infants to be checked at birth for the X gene- that's what they've named the gene that sped up human evolution- so that they can be tagged, and watched carefully by the feds." he paused, running either of his hands through his flame bright hair. "I can't believe that a mutant doesn't even know of her kind. I'm still findin' that hard to believe, love."

I sighed. "Well, believe it. I don't even remember whether or not I have a family. Do you?"

John shook his head, though his smile never wavered. "My family didn't want me after my powers manifested. I took up with another mutant and his little group of other Mutant misfits. When you get out of here, perhaps you could look him up. Sure, he's megalomaniacal to a fault, and wants nothing more than to exterminate the entire human race- I don't begrudge him for that since I've thought about it myself-, but he keeps us clothed, well fed, and gives us important jobs to do."

I was intrigued, and so was the _Witch_.

"What name does your group call itself?" Simple question.

"Well, we're the Acolytes, and our psychotic leader is known as Magneto."

With the last word he said resonating throughout my head, the _Witch_ entered my head, and the world as I knew it was dyed crimson.


End file.
